Father and Son
by MaverickLover2
Summary: A very brief glimpse into the life of James Buckley and his son Jack.


Father and Son

It was nighttime, and he should be in bed asleep, just like his son and Mrs. Murtaw were, but somehow sleep was elusive this night. He prowled through the house, quite unusual for him these days. Jack had been here almost three years, and Jim had long since gotten used to his son's presence.

 _Hmm, my son. I wonder when I started thinking of him as my son. Somewhere along the line he had ceased being 'the boy' and started being 'my son.'_ It hadn't been easy at first, for either one of them, but eventually it became almost natural. Of course, it helped to have Mrs. Murtaw there. Maybe she was the grease that eased the wheels of transition.

Mrs. Murtaw. She'd worked for him for over two years before he even asked her first name. It was Hannah. And yet they still called each other Mr. Buckley and Mrs. Murtaw. Somehow the familiar just didn't seem right. "A proper servant never refers to her employer by his first name." That was Mrs. Murtaw' s take on the situation, and Jim abided by her rules.

They were awkward at first, especially Jim and Jack, but then they had every right to be. Jack's mother Leonora never told Jim he had a son, and she never explained to Jack who his father was. She had her reasons, and she never explained those, either. When she died unexpectedly, each found out about the other for the first time.

Jim found himself somewhere between astounded and horrified. No child should ever grow up with Dandy Jim Buckley as a father, and he tried to see that Jack was no exception. Jim did his level best to get his friend Bart Maverick and his wife Doralice to raise the boy. James looked out at the crisp white groundcover glistening in the moonlight and wondered why Bart hadn't shot him for the trick he pulled on the Mavericks.

That trick almost worked, and would have if Bart hadn't come looking for him. What had he been thinking? Yes, it seemed to be appropriate at the time, but looking back on it through the veil of years he could see now how foolish it was. He'd gotten so used to Jack being around that he almost couldn't imagine a life without him in it.

Jim was thought of as a pillar in the community. He was looked to for advice and direction by many of the townsfolk and the elected leaders. The town had no idea that father very often consulted with son before he gave advice or rendered an opinion. And why not? The boy had an excellent head on his shoulders; Leonora had taught him well in the few years she had him. He rarely jumped to conclusions; he tended to look at all sides of an issue before voicing a view. And he had made Jim more thoughtful, just by being that way himself.

Father was amazed by how well-educated a lad of six could be. At six years old Jimmy Buckley had been a little stinker, wild and headstrong, determined to have his own way and no other. Jack was dignified and quiet, a forty-year-old in a six-year old's body. He had excellent manners and almost never misbehaved. James could remember the first time Jack had called him 'father.' A chill had gone up his spine, which he tried not to show, but it rolled off Jack's tongue like he'd said it all his life. James almost looked around to see who he was referring to. He half expected Bart to be sitting on the settee.

Jim moved from room to room in the little house, quietly prowling the floorboards and wondering when sleep would come. And then he thought of what life would have been like living with Leonora. If only she hadn't died. But would it really have made a difference? Their relationship was finished; they both knew it, and that's why he'd moved on. Still . . .

He heard a noise in the front room and he made his way there, only to discover it was just the cat. He kept on walking and found himself at a familiar doorway. Jack's room. His son. He watched the rise and fall of the chest, saw the rhythmic breathing, and was satisfied that his son, his Jack, was sleeping peacefully for one more night. Jim crept quietly into the room and watched Jack breathe for another minute or so, then bent down and kissed the boy on the forehead. He would deny ever having done so, but the cat saw it happen, and Jim was peaceful and relaxed enough to go to sleep.

He returned to his own room, where he lay down and felt the familiarity of the silk sheets, and gave a contented sigh. It wouldn't be long before he felt the urge to travel again, but for now he was wasn't the life he'd expected; who knew he'd end up being responsibe for a child. But not just any chid. As he drifted off into sleep, he was finally willing to admit that he and Jack were, indeed, father and son.


End file.
